


The NotSoCasual Declaration

by Ellie5192



Series: The NotSo Series [6]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-23
Updated: 2011-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-26 11:03:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellie5192/pseuds/Ellie5192
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows The NotSoGraceful Brigadier General. He's thought about it for years, but standing between the iceburg lettuce and the basil probably wasn't the most romantic place to blurt it out. And what's with the orange toothbrush? SJ fluff, one-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The NotSoCasual Declaration

_Set between season 8 and 9, before they transfer. I'm going with the assumption it's been a few weeks of dancing and romancing, but is timeline really all that important with these silly shots of fluffy-goodness? No? I didn't think so either..._

 _Enjoy!_

 _The NotSoCasual Declaration_

It's not that he hasn't thought about saying it before. He thought the thoughts every moment he got to spend with her. Every time she kissed his cheek of a morning, or took up the entire couch or stole the blankets in the middle of the night, he was still  _thinking_  about it, somewhere in the back of his mind. Of course, other thoughts were usually at the forefront, like 'good morning' or 'scootch over' or 'damn it my toes are freezing'.

But it was there. Longer than he'd like to admit to anyone, especially her.

So no, it's not that he hasn't thought about saying it before. But standing in the middle of the grocery store between the iceberg lettuce and fresh basil probably isn't the most romantic place to blurt out the sentiment.

And when he says it, what aggravates him more than the timing, the location or the fact he's holding up a bag of parsley and therefore doesn't look the least bit dignified, is the fact that she doesn't even register.

Not one wit.

No pause in her step. No bat of the eyelid. No look of disbelief as she slowly spins around to face him and demand to know why this wasn't said as least a few weeks ago.

Nothing.

Except a slight tug at the corner of her mouth that tells him she at least  _heard_ what he has said.

They walk to the isle with the pasta and she holds up two bags. He picks the penne for the hell of it and continues to follow her, his comment about her cooking remaining in his head rather than on his tongue. She wants to convince him she's not as bad at it as everyone believes, and he's inclined to let her because Carter slaving over a hot stove may be one of his most chauvinistic fantasies to date, but it's a far cry from everything else he's ever seen her do, and the idea that she can cook  _as well_  might just blow his mind.

They walk past the toiletries and the only thing she grabs is a new toothbrush, and while he's casually walking past the Great Rainbow Wall of Women's Sanitary Products he tries not to think too hard about her lack of consideration, and the fact that it must mean she's either not due or she's well prepared. Or both.

Thinking about such matters this early in the game, while responsible and mature, is not really where he wants his head to be. He's still in the honeymoon phase, thank you very much.

He also diverts his gaze from the bright orange toothbrush now resting in her basket, and doesn't allow his mind to linger on the fact that the one currently sitting at home, alone in its holder, is a very deliberate blue. And she would know that.

They make it to checkout with only the two baskets they started with, and it's such a tiny, seemingly insignificant thing, but the fact that she can go shopping and only buy  _exactly_  what she set out to buy confirms that she might just be the one and only for him.

The ride back to his house is relatively quiet, both of them nodding along to the classic rock station she programmed. She's been spending a lot more time at his place than he has at hers, and Jack refuses to believe that it has anything to do with her father's lingering presence, because he is  _so_ not worried about what Dad would have said. By all accounts he did all in his power to prevent the wedding that was scheduled for two weeks ago.

Jack doesn't read much into that either.

When they pull up to his place they make short work of the groceries, and if she wasn't already familiar with the layout of his kitchen she certainly is now. He's more than comfortable with leaving her there while he disposes of the toilet paper and toothpaste he got for himself in the bathroom, and call it presumptuous, but he very deliberately unwraps her new toothbrush and puts it in the holder next to his, the wrapping discarded for all to see in the white plastic bin tucked next to the vanity. She'll notice it there later, and if it's not meant to be there he'll notice its quiet absence in the morning. Like everything between them, the 'significant steps' seem less than important when you consider just how many times they've faced death with each other. Or for each other.

He walks back to the kitchen just as she's putting the apples in the fruit bowl, and keeps doing down the hall to the lounge. He flops on the couch and flicks on the game, one foot on the coffee table, the other thrown over the arm of the sofa.

"I'll start dinner in an hour or so" she says, walking out to the lounge with a beer each and plopping herself on the couch next to him, just a little closer than necessary. He doesn't mind.

"M'kay. Whenever you feel like"

Truthfully he's happy to sit here forever if it means she snuggles her head on his shoulder like that. She's done it before, she'll do it again, but boy does the action make this all the more real and wonderful.

She stays and watches twenty minutes with him, before her mind clearly remembers something she has to do, because she hauls herself up off the couch and takes their empty beer bottles with her.

"Where're you goin'?" he asks, tracking her across the room.

"I just remembered I need to go check my P.O box- it's been over a week. I forgot while we were out"

"Okay"

She smiles at the hint of sadness in his tone at the thought of her leaving.

"I'll only be gone fifteen minutes" she starts, walking down the hall to grab her keys and jacket from the dining room table. He hears the bottles clinking in the cardboard box on the floor of the kitchen where he stores his recyclables until he can be bothered taking them to the outside bin. She reappears at the corner of the living room, right near the front door, one arm in her jacket.

"By the time I get back I can start on dinner" she adds, flicking her collar over from where it folded under itself.

And there's the quiet reassurance that she will return.

"Alright. I'll see you soon then"

"Mmmhmm"

She turns to go and just as quickly turns back.

"Oh, and Jack?"

"Hmm?"

She grins her charming, bubbly grin.

"I love you too"

And like that she's gone, the front door banging lightly shut behind her, and it takes a moment for her words to sink in.

He's still grinning like an idiot when she gets home almost twenty minutes later.


End file.
